


Professionalism

by bozothemoose



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Crossover, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-03
Updated: 2011-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:50:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bozothemoose/pseuds/bozothemoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter AU. Arthur really just wishes Professor Eames would be more professional so he can do his job. No, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Professionalism

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt over at inception_kink. The first thing I actually wrote for this fandom; I posted it a while ago to my LJ and I'm just now getting around to posting all my stuff over here because I am incredibly lazy.

Arthur kept one eye on Ariadne, scribbling across from him, and the other on the door to the staff lounge. Any second now. Any second…

“Would you stop doing that?” she snapped. “It’s creepy.”

“Sorry,” Arthur said automatically, not stopping at all.

“What are you doing, anyway?” she asked, pushing pages full of complicated squiggles away from her and leaning back in her chair. “Besides staring at me, obviously. Shouldn’t you be grading those essays? I know they were due last Friday; my fifth years were moaning for weeks about what a complete arse you are.”

“I just know,” Arthur mused, not taking his eyes off the door, “That the second I touch those papers, _he’s_ going to walk in.”

He did not miss the way Ariadne rolled her eyes. “Oh, _him_ ,” she said theatrically. “I swear, you two are worse than the third years. Why don’t you just shag and move on?”

Arthur’s rage eclipsed his need to maintain eye contact with the door. “I don’t want to shag him,” he hissed. “I want to _kill_ him. The prat is the bane of my existence; he stands for everything that I, and the rest of polite society oppose-”

“And you want to shag his brains in,” Ariadne supplied helpfully. “Oh, don’t look at me that way. You know you do. Hell, half the female population at this school does. I know I wouldn’t say no.”

Arthur sent her a look that he hoped conveyed the proper sense of shock and betrayal. She at least looked somewhat apologetic. “Okay, I would,” she amended. “But only because I know you’re the jealous type, dear.”

Arthur decided not to deign that with a response. Instead, he reached for his red ink pot and selected the first essay from the stack. Of course, the second his fingers touched the parchment, the door banged open loudly and _he_ strode in.

 _He_ was Eames, professor of Transfiguration and the single most miserable aspect of Arthur’s life. He took every excuse to interrupt his class, to subvert his authority, and counteract his discipline. He gave out House Points like they were candy, and only ever gave detention to the Slytherins. He never wore robes to class, instead dressing in Muggle clothes of increasingly horrific patterns and shapes. To top it all off, he couldn’t be fired because he was a frustratingly good teacher.

He also had a body no teacher had business possessing. Even at his most enraged, Arthur couldn’t help but appreciate the broad sweep of Eames’ shoulders, the hint of the tattoo peeking over the edge of his collar, his _obscene_ lips…

So maybe Arthur did want to shag him a bit. _He wasn’t going to_.

“Arthur!” Eames boomed, collapsing into the chair next to him and beaming. “And how is my favorite Defense professor today?”

“I was fine until you showed up,” Arthur gritted out. “Eames, just leave me alone. I need to grade these papers, and-”

“Oh, the ones that you assigned to the fifth years three weeks before their OWLs? Yeah, that’s fair, Arthur-”

“It’s information they needed to know! We can’t all give all our students O’s and be done with it, some of us have _ethics_ -”

“Oi! I resent that!”

Ariadne just rolled her eyes again as they continued to bicker and went back to grading.

**

With two days to go before the OWLs and right after the fourth student of the day had a breakdown mid-lecture and had to be led out in tears, Eames deemed it the appropriate time to appear outside of Arthur’s classroom.

Outside the window.

On a broomstick.

“Professor Eames,” Arthur most definitely did not _growl_. He was a professional, not one of the fifteen-year-olds he was currently teaching. Which is also why he definitely did not notice the way Eames’ thighs gripped the broomstick. “Is there something I can help you with? I am mid-lesson.”

“Just wanted to pop in and see your charming visage, Arthur darling – oh, I mean, _Professor_.” Eames smirked. “I know you do like your professionalism, pet. Oh, damn, there I go again-”

One of the girls in the front row made the mistake of letting out a slightly hysterical giggle. Arthur’s head snapped around instantly.

“Friedman, ten points from Hufflepuff,” he bit out. When he turned to face Eames again, the man was giving the girl a wink that told Arthur that the next time he saw her, Eames would give her back the lost points plus interest. “And you,” he fumed, “Get out of my classroom.”

“But Arthur, dear-”

Arthur waved his wand and the window slammed in Eames’ face.

**

With the fifth years gone for two weeks, Arthur found himself a free period twice a week. He used this opportunity to visit the Cobbs.

Dom rarely came out of the North Tower, but Arthur had found a weird fondness toward the man. As his head popped out of the trapdoor, he was greeted by the sight of Dom and his wife, their heads bent together, her pearlescent hair slipping partially through his nose. Dom, to his credit, didn’t even shudder slightly.

“Should I come back another time?” Arthur asked, somewhat hushed.

“Arthur!” Mal cried happily, her voice echoing in the room even though no one else’s did. “No, not at all, _mon cher_ , come in!”

Even death had not been enough to separate Dominic and Mallorie Cobb. Arthur not-so-secretly envied what they had. Dom still looked at Mal as if she was the answer to all of life’s mysteries. And maybe she was, seeing as she could walk through walls and had seen the other side of death. But there was also the very real possibility that Dom was off his rocker.

“Arthur, something is troubling you,” Dom squinted at him.

“You don’t have to be a Seer to notice that,” Arthur grumped, trying to sit gracefully on one of the squashy chairs and largely failing.

Mal clapped her hands gleefully. “I want to guess! It is the beautiful Professor Eames, no?”

“ _Oui_ ,” Arthur sighed. “Dom, can’t you just tell me whenever he’s coming so I can leave before he finds me?”

“Arthur, you know that the Eye does not work that way,” he said sternly.

Arthur rubbed a hand wearily over his face. “I know, Dom. I was kidding.”

“The Sight is not a joking matter, Arthur…”

“Can you get your husband to shut up, Mal? Just this once?”

Mal obligingly waved a hand through his head. This time Dom could not suppress the shudders that wracked his body. Mal did not look displeased by this.

“Can’t you please just tell me that at some point in the future, Eames will leave me alone?” Arthur begged. “I just need something to look forward to.”

Dom regarded him silently for several moments. “Eames will leave you alone,” Dom finally pronounced quietly. “But it will not bring happiness to you.”

“Great,” Arthur moaned. “Well, it’s been lovely. I’m off to go terrorize my House; apparently the sixth year Hufflepuffs pitched a party as a big fuck you to the fifth and seventh years and my sixth years decided to volunteer the use our Common Room, so I must go remind them that they are the _scholarly_ House and not _heathens_.”

“Have fun,” Dom said distractedly, his attention already recaptured by his wife.

**

That night over dinner, Eames sat in his usual spot right next to Arthur and commented on the fact that most of the contents of his plate were phallic in shape.

Arthur tried to stab him with a fork. He only missed because the Headmaster had looked over, and Saito didn’t look kindly upon his professors attempting to kill each other.

**

Arthur visited Yusuf instead of Dom on Thursday because there was only so much of the Cobbs’ googly eyes he could take in a week. Predictably, the dungeons smelled like something dead and were filled with a vicious pink smoke.

Equally as predictably, Yusuf was swearing loudly and quite creatively in the midst of it all.

“Be careful,” Arthur warned. “A student might overhear you.”

“Oh, bugger off,” Yusuf snapped irritably. “Seriously, can you just remove that giant stick up your arse for ten minutes so I can fix this damn potion? Ten minutes.”

Arthur scowled. “You’re almost as bad as Eames, you know.”

Yusuf threw something slimy and most likely wriggling in the cauldron, which emitted a loud bang. Yusuf didn’t seem at all worried by this development. “Yeah, well, maybe you should take our complaints more seriously then,” he said, reaching for a jar of eyeballs on his desk and tossing in a few. “More than one source and all that.”

“Come on, you’re his friend,” Arthur said, trying for _cajoling_ and landing more in the area of _murderous_. “Can’t you get him to stop or something?”

Yusuf heaved an enormous sigh and set the cauldron heavily to the side. Part of the acidic green contents sloshed over the edge and started merrily burning a hole in the floor. “No, I won’t,” he said firmly. “Two reasons. One, have you _ever_ tried to convince Eames to do something he doesn’t want to do? It’s bloody impossible. Two, the second he _does_ stop, you’re going to be miserable and thus even more unbearable than you usually are.”

Arthur spluttered. “I would be _delighted_ if Eames were to leave me alone.”

Yusuf looked unimpressed. “Miserable,” he corrected. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got about three gallons of Calming Draught to replenish the Hospital Wing’s supply because some prat keeps trying to kill his students with an unnecessary workload.”

Arthur made sure to kick over one of the simmering cauldrons on his way out.

**

With exams over, the school quickly went to hell in a handbasket.

Arthur sought sanctuary in his office, so of course Eames burst in before he could truly relax.

“Arthur, my love,” Eames beamed, propping his feet up on the desk. Arthur’s left eye twitched violently “What are your plans for this coming holiday?”

“None of your business,” Arthur said curtly, trying to hide Eames’ face with a large textbook.

“Oh, come on, darling. Tell me. Are you just going to hole yourself up in that miserable little cottage all break and read like you did last year? That’s no way to live.”

Arthur snapped the book shut. “Maybe not by your standards, Professor Eames, but I happen to like it,” he frowned. “And I would appreciate if you would cease contact with me over the summer. I do not want to hear a word from you until September.”

Eames’ mouth was hanging slightly open. “But… darling…”

Arthur stood up abruptly. “That. Right there,” he said angrily. “Stop it. From now on, I only want to deal with you in a professional capacity and then only because I am being _paid to do so_. I mean it, Eames. Leave. Me. _Alone_.”

Eames was silent for several moments. Finally, he let out a quiet “Right, then,” and left the room without another word.

Arthur spent the next two hours watching the students frolic on the edge of the lake and convincing himself that what he was feeling wasn’t guilt.

**

True to his word, Eames left Arthur alone for the first week of the holiday. It was more than Arthur had expected and he basked in the solitude of his not-at-all-miserable little cottage.

By the second week, Arthur was keeping an eye on the window for a glimpse of Eames’ ridiculous parrot clutching a letter. He refused to admit that he was possibly _missing_ the other man.

By the third week, he became convinced something had happened to Eames.

By the end of the fourth week, he broke down and Flooed Yusuf.

To say Yusuf was not pleased to find Arthur’s head in his fireplace was an understatement. “It is not even August yet,” he growled when he answered, clad only in a towel. “Circe’s tits, what could you _possibly_ have to complain to me about?”

“Have you heard from Eames lately?” Arthur asked.

“I told you you’d be miserable. Look, I have better things to do than listen to you whine about how simply awful it is to be the sole object of a handsome man’s attention,” Yusuf grumped.

Arthur squinted behind him. “Is that Ariadne?”

The Arithmancy professor squeaked in embarrassment and bounded from the room, nearly losing her own towel in the process. Arthur looked pointedly at Yusuf once she had gone.

“Fine.” Yusuf huffed and sat down with his legs open, giving Arthur a view that made him really want to _Obliviate_ himself. “He’s off moping in the south of France because _some_ little twat went off and broke his heart.” Yusuf shook his head. “You went too far this time, Arthur. How’d you like it if the bloke you were in love with up and told you to bugger off, hmmm?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Eames is not in love with me, Yusuf. He just likes to get under my skin because apparently, he is twelve years old.”

“Yeah?” challenged Yusuf. “Then why did he stop all of a sudden?”

Arthur tried to answer, but words wouldn’t come. Yusuf sighed, scribbled something down on a scrap of parchment, and shoved it into Arthur’s mouth.

“Look, I don’t care if you don’t feel the same way,” Yusuf said as Arthur glowered. “But you at least owe him an apology. Write him. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to the better things I have to _do_.”

**

Arthur didn’t write to Eames.

He did, however, book a Portkey to France.

He pounded on Eames’ door for five minutes before the man bothered to answer. When he did, his hair was a mess, he was shirtless, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in a week.

He was the best thing Arthur had ever seen.

“Um,” Arthur said, for lack of anything better that came to mind. “Yusuf said I should apologize. For being a little twat.”

Eames looked uncomfortable. “Yeah, well, it’s my fault. Sorry for pulling your metaphorical pigtails too hard, Arthur. Good day.”

He tried to close the door, but Arthur stuck his arm in. “Yusuf said I should _write_ to you,” Arthur elaborated. “I didn’t have to come all this way.”

Eames looked wary, but he eased the door open again. Arthur took this as an invitation to continue. “Look, I meant it when I said I wanted to deal with you professionally in a professional setting,” he said. “It’s really not okay when you barge in on my class or turn my papers into a goat or try to grope me over dinner.”

“I got it, Arthur,” Eames groaned, and Arthur felt sick at hearing his name rather than _darling_ coming from Eames’ ridiculous lips. “From now on I will only say _Good day_ and you won’t have to deal with me beyond that, all right?”

“No,” Arthur blurted out. “Because outside a professional setting, there’s a number of very unprofessional things I’d like to do to you. Well,” he considered, “I suppose they’d be considered professional in Knockturn Alley.”

Eames looked confused. “Are you saying you want to kill me?”

“I’m saying I want to lick your tattoos,” Arthur said. “Oh, and your cock.”

Eames’ eyes grew comically wide. “Oh.”

“And I want to go to the Three Broomsticks on the weekends with you,” Arthur said, unable to hold the words back anymore. “I want to grade papers with you and I want you to send me memos during class and I want you around _all the time_ when I don’t have to work because these past few weeks without you have been the worst in my life.”

Eames jaw clenched. “I’m in love with you, you know,” he said softly.

Arthur’s breath whooshed out of him. He didn’t see how he could have possibly missed it. “Yeah,” he said. “I reckon I'm in love with you, too.”

“We’ve got four whole weeks left to do highly unprofessional things, you know,” Eames said without looking up. “That is, if –”

“I only booked a Portkey one-way,” Arthur cut in.

Only then did Eames brilliant lips twist into a smile. “You presumptuous-”

This time Arthur cut him off with a kiss. It was unprofessional, stupid, risky, and the best thing he’d ever done.

**

So maybe Eames still occasionally groped him under the dinner table.

Arthur minded a lot less.


End file.
